


far away from here and closer to somewhere else

by AuroraWest



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Loki (Marvel), Bittersweet Ending, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki thinks about how he's drunk and anything sexual would be very dub-con, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Oblivious Loki (Marvel), Or Is he?, POV Loki (Marvel), Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, Thirsty Loki, Truth or Dare, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but there is no actual dub-con, maybe he's just an idiot, so much pining, that sexual tension stays unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: Loki didn't even need to be in Hong Kong. It was just a place to visit. And then he runs into Stephen Strange and keeps finding reasons not to leave.Or, Loki and Stephen get drunk enough that playing truth or dare seems like a good idea.
Relationships: Loki/Stephen Strange
Comments: 26
Kudos: 51
Collections: Froststrange Week 2021





	far away from here and closer to somewhere else

**Author's Note:**

> For Froststrange Week day 2, prompts: "Oh, is that something you want to talk about?"/truth or dare/drunk.

Loki didn’t even need to be in Hong Kong.

It had been a whim. Just a place to go. Somewhere he’d never been, but a name that had always stuck in his head whenever he’d heard Midgardian locales listed off. Some were in one ear, out the other, but others—Berlin, London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Mumbai—he’d heard of them, and so he paid slightly more attention when their names came up.

It didn’t occur to him where he’d heard the name Hong Kong until he turned around, the bubble tea he’d just purchased in hand, and came face to face with Stephen Strange.

Loki swore and dropped his bubble tea. Strange cast a quick spell and caught it. “I thought that was you,” Strange said wryly, handing the plastic cup back to Loki.

“What the hel are you doing here?” Loki snapped.

Unperturbed by the hostility, Strange just raised an eyebrow. “Field trip to the Hong Kong Sanctum.”

Clutching his bubble tea to his chest—which was a mistake, as it was sweating in the heat and humidity—Loki said, “Ah. Right. The Hong Kong Sanctum.” _That_ was where he’d heard the name. Strange and Wong had mentioned it, during those long ago days that Loki had stayed at the Sanctum. New York City, London, and Hong Kong. He hadn’t thought it was _here_. There was nothing here, except a few small villages and some hiking trails.

_Here_ was Lamma Island, where Loki had come because it seemed quieter, and the views seemed nice, and sometimes he preferred to see cities from just outside them. He’d spent the morning in Hong Kong itself, strolling through street markets and looking at restaurant menus. He’d visited a Taoist temple and two Buddhist temples and walked down Nathan Road in TST, where the prices in the clothing boutiques had made him regret—more than usual—the fact that he was more or less destitute. There was a particularly nice suit that made him consider digging through his pocket dimension to find something priceless and Asgardian that he could sell.

That was the problem, though. It was priceless and Asgardian. Even if he found something of value, he wouldn’t be able to part with it. The only thing he’d ended up buying was a bottle of baijiu, because it was something he could share with Thor.

Eventually he’d caught the ferry to Lamma Island. By this time it was afternoon and hotter and more unpleasant than Muspelheim on a bad day. At least Muspelheim was a dry heat. Hong Kong was humid and Loki was drenched in sweat by the time he walked from the ferry dock through Sok Kwu Wan, through the covered area packed with counters selling food, out onto the road along the harbor, and past a small temple. The heat meant that the hiking he wanted to do was out of the question until it cooled off. He even tied his hair back in a bun. A) It was sweaty and disgusting and was doing him no favors in the looks department, and B) he was hot enough not to care how much he hated tying his hair back.

But he still thought he might die in a pool of his own sweat, so he stopped at a stand on the other end of the village for bubble tea. And now Strange was here, staring at Loki with that crooked little smile on his face that Loki despised.

Alright. _Fine_. He didn’t despise it. But for the purposes of…something; perhaps just his own pride, he despised it.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, dryly, Strange said, “I actually wanted to get one of these too, so…if you don’t mind?”

“Oh.” Loki shuffled to the side, but he didn’t leave. Why didn’t he leave? Clearly, the thing to do was to walk away. He was under no obligation to stand here and wait for Strange; it wasn’t as though they’d come here together or even planned to meet. This was a completely chance encounter.

Honestly. What _were_ the odds? He knew maybe, _maybe_ , ten humans on this entire planet. And one of them was standing in front of him on Lamma Island, Hong Kong, in line to buy a bubble tea.

He really needed to just go.

Strange handed over some money and was given a plastic cup in exchange, just like Loki’s, with the exception of the liquid inside being a different color. Loki’s was red bean; he hadn’t listened to what Strange had ordered. And then, before Loki was able to make up his mind about leaving, Strange turned around to face him. “What are the odds?” he asked.

The fact that Loki had just thought the exact same thing made this oddly irritating. “Apparently not low enough,” he said.

Strange moved away from the bubble tea stand, heading for a shady spot under a mango tree. Loki knew it was a mango tree because the first time he’d eaten a mango, he’d decided he wanted to grow them in New Asgard—and quickly had this desire dashed when he’d discovered the climate was far too cold.

Still unsure what he should do, Loki remained rooted to the spot. This wasn’t even the first time he’d run into Strange coincidentally. The fact that it had now happened multiple times was a bit suspect, actually. He wasn’t _supposed_ to be on Strange’s list anymore. And he thought the two of them had enough of a rapport that Strange didn’t suspect him of malice.

Perhaps he was wrong about that.

It was that, really, only that, that finally made him move, following Strange to the shade of the mango tree. He stabbed his straw through the foil covering his bubble tea and sucked at it. His hands were soaking from the condensation on the cup, and the tea inside was already warming. Stopping in front of Strange, he asked, “Your presence has _nothing_ to do with the fact that I’m here today?”

With an amused look, Strange said, “Thinking pretty highly of yourself these days, huh?”

Loki rolled his eyes and sipped at his tea again. It was good. The pearls rolling around the bottom of the cup were oddly satisfying to chew, too.

An eye-roll wasn’t really sufficient response, but he was too overheated to get into a whole thing with Strange. Even Strange looked hot. His hair, especially the piece flopping over his forehead, was damp, and the t-shirt he was wearing was sticking to him. Loki’s eyes lingered of their own accord. Where the shirt was dampest, it was easy to see Strange’s muscles—hardly rippling, since the man was middle-aged, but certainly not nonexistent. Quite respectable, actually, considering he was in his mid-40s.

He looked up, hoping Strange hadn’t noticed him staring. It wasn’t a crime to notice if someone was in good shape. But he didn’t want Strange getting…ideas. Loki barely even liked him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Strange asked, sipping at his tea. His fingers trembled as he adjusted the straw.

Loki thought about making something up. He took another swallow of bubble tea, then admitted, “Sightseeing, mostly. If I’m to live here now…on Earth, I mean, then I suppose I should know it.”

“Yeah?” Strange wiped his brow. “Is Thor here with you?”

“No.” Loki shook his head and took a step to the side, so he could lean a shoulder against the tree. “Thor’s too recognizable. I could never walk through a market unmolested if he was with me. Anyway, you know how he is.” This had slipped out without Loki really thinking about it. _Did_ Strange know how Thor was? _Had_ they spent enough time for Strange to know that? Before Strange had a chance to agree with this, Loki clarified, “He loves Earth. You know. And humans.” He waved a hand and droplets of water came off his fingers. “I’m sure he’d have enjoyed seeing you, though.” This had been an unnecessary addition. He wasn’t entirely sure that Thor would have enjoyed seeing Strange. When Strange came up, Thor was sometimes a bit odd about him.

Strange swirled the pearls around at the bottom of his cup, then nodded. “Guess I’ll consider myself lucky that I get to see one of the Sons of Odin.”

“The less likable one,” Loki said, smiling slightly. “So perhaps not so lucky.”

With a shrug, Strange said, “That just means I don’t have to compete for your attention.”

“Do you find yourself struggling to gain my attention, Strange?” Loki asked.

“Usually it’s not much of a struggle,” Strange said. There was a placidness to his tone that Loki didn’t trust.

Well, that, and Strange was implying, rather heavily, that Loki was salivating for Strange’s attention, something which was obviously, patently false.

Then, Strange smiled. The warmth in it made Loki relax. He ran his hand over his sweaty forehead, pushing a few strands of hair that hadn’t made their way into the bun back over his head. The humidity was making it even frizzier than normal, and his waves were turning to outright curls. “Why are you really here? A ‘field trip’ to the Hong Kong Sanctum isn’t really a reason.”

Something seemed to have eased between them. With a chuckle, Strange said, “Well, it’s _a_ reason. I can’t really say.”

“Mm. Your wizard school is keeping secrets?”

“If you don’t go to wizard school, you don’t get to know what we’re up to there.”

Loki smirked. “You’re not even going to give me a hint?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Strange said.

“Very mysterious.” Loki sucked at his bubble tea again. It was half gone. He was thirstier than he’d thought. “Isn’t the Sanctum in the city? What are you doing out _here?_ ”

Shooting Loki a crooked smile, Strange asked, “So you don’t think I’m just out here to follow you around?”

Loki shrugged. “If you still consider me a threat to Earth, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

This was not, it had to be noted, an answer to Strange’s question. It actually raised a different question—one which Strange didn’t answer. There was a hesitation, and then Strange sipped at his tea again before studying Loki, his head cocked. Loki stared back. Finally, Strange replied, “I come out here to meditate, actually. It’s peaceful up at the top of the island. There’s a spot that’s a little bit away from the trail. Most hikers don’t go there.” With a shrug, he added, “And if they do, usually the sight of me sitting there meditating means they turn around and leave me in peace.”

“I was going to hike to the other village,” Loki said without really thinking it through.

Strange finished his bubble tea and tossed the cup towards a nearby trash can. It was clearly magically assisted to aid in the distance it had to travel, though his aim seemed good. “Yung Shue Wan?” he asked. “Nice restaurants over there.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll eat dinner,” Loki replied. In fact, he didn’t really intend to do this—he’d gotten dim sum for breakfast, and there had been so much left over that he’d stuck it in his pocket dimension to eat later. Now, of course, it was far too hot to even consider eating.

There was a silence. Strange cocked his head at Loki, then asked, “Want to walk together?”

Loki’s fingers slipped on his sweaty cup. “What? Why?”

“You can say no,” Strange said dryly.

“Who says I’m going to say no?” Loki shot back. Actually, he had intended to say no. Or at least, he’d intended to imply that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hike across Lamma Island with Stephen Strange. Whether or not implying it would have resulted in an actual refusal to accompany him was another matter.

It was an unfortunate fact, Loki had noticed, that he did a lot of pissing and moaning where it came to Strange—he didn’t like him (really, he didn’t), he wasn’t interested in anything Strange had to say, his magic was inferior, he was irritating and insufferable, Loki hated being around him—but despite this, the two of them were doing an uncanny imitation of being friends. Normally, Loki would get angry about that. He would lash out at the most convenient target, which, in this case, would be Strange himself. But he didn’t have the energy.

Raising his eyebrows, Strange asked, “So…yes?”

Loki lifted his bubble tea to his lips, mostly to give himself time to think. It was almost gone and he sucked up several of the pearls. They had, the thought slipped through his head, a sort of sensuous quality—and he didn’t want to be thinking words like _sensuous_ as he looked at Strange, with his damp hair and sticky t-shirt and sweat standing out visibly on his skin. All of that alone was good enough reason to say no to hiking together.

But what he said was, “Can’t you just use a portal to go straight there? You don’t need to walk.”

With a shrug, Strange replied, “It’s good exercise. I haven’t figured out a spell to take a few inches off my waistline yet.”

“You don’t need to; you look perfectly fine,” Loki replied without thinking. Then, realizing what he’d just said, he clamped his mouth shut. The harbor was nearby—he could fling himself over the railing into the water. Though he thought the tide had been out, so anything he’d be able to reach would just be mud. Well, he could probably still drown himself in mud.

A smile twitched at Strange’s mouth and he said, “Aw. Thanks, Odinson.”

“Shut up,” Loki replied, his face feeling flushed. At least it probably wouldn’t be a noticeable change, since he’d already been flushed and sweating from the heat.

“No, seriously,” Strange said. “It’s not every day a god tells you that you look ‘perfectly fine.’ I’m probably going to cherish this moment for a long time.”

Loki busied himself sucking up the last dregs of his tea, drawing the liquid so forcefully up through the straw that the last remaining pearl entered his mouth at roughly the velocity of sound. He coughed, drew a breath, and finally said, trying to ignore the amused cast of Strange’s eyebrows, “I’ll make sure to tell you if you’re letting yourself go, too.”

His smile twitching a little wider, Strange said, “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Picking at the foil on his cup, Loki ran through all the reasons that he should say no. That he was _going_ to say no. It was too hot and Loki hated the heat. Strange would irritate him, because Strange _always_ irritated him, and the two of them didn’t like each other.

On the other hand…it had been a long time since Loki had found himself enjoying the sight of another person’s body. He didn’t like that it was Strange’s, and he _certainly_ didn’t like the fact that Strange’s arms, not over-muscled but with just enough definition, were giving him a sort of pleasant buzz in his veins. If he didn’t know better—and he did, he absolutely knew better—but if he didn’t, he would say it was a precursor to arousal.

Good thing such a thing wasn’t possible with Strange.

Anyway, the point was…wait, what was the point? Loki shook his head a little. It was so damned _hot_.

Strange ran a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, and then pulled at his shirt to unstick it from his chest. “So, want to come?”

Loki hesitated. He should say no. He needed to say no. No was the only possible response.

“Yes,” he said.

For a fraction of a second, Strange looked surprised. Hmph. So he’d been expecting Loki to say no, probably to say something snide and cutting, actually, before he stalked off and left Strange to his own devices. So in fact, saying yes was a victory over him. Loki had won.

And well, yes, he was a bit hazy on _what_ , precisely, he’d won, but a victory was a victory.

Strange extended an arm and Loki rolled his shoulders back, drawing in a deep breath of heavy, humid air. He was probably going to regret this. The island’s elevation wasn’t exactly insurmountable, or even particularly challenging, but everything felt more difficult in heat like this.

Nevertheless, Loki slipped past him, stepping back onto the paved trail that he knew would take him to Yung Shue Wan. It wound through the village, along the island’s coast, until it turned into the interior and began gaining in elevation.

They didn’t really speak as they walked, keeping single file as they passed other hikers, and sometimes even when they didn’t. The trail itself was easy. He’d marched over far rougher terrain through the years in one military campaign or another, in worse weather, too. Theoretically. At the moment, he couldn’t decide what was worse: rain and cold, or heat and humidity.

Anyway, by the time they got to Strange’s meditation spot—which, in addition to walking up the paved path, had then involved trekking down a narrow, dirt trail to a point that overlooked one of the island’s harbors—Loki’s chest was heaving as he gasped for air. His heart was pounding. The only thing that made it less embarrassing—and it wasn’t by much—was that Strange wasn’t doing much better, himself.

“See?” Strange said, taking breaths in through his nose and then huffing them out through his mouth. “Good exercise.”

Loki was completely drenched in sweat. His legs, ridiculously, felt like jelly. But he didn’t want to look out of shape compared to Strange. After all, he was an Asgardian. Even at his _most_ out of shape, shouldn’t he be more fit than a middle-aged human man? Even if said middle-aged man clearly took care of himself.

Putting his hands on his hips, trying to take breaths that looked deep and purposeful instead of pathetic and gasping, he wheezed, “Yes. Excellent—exercise.” He would have glared at Strange, daring him to laugh, but Strange was standing with his hands on his hips himself, looking out over the vista. Loki hadn’t even gotten that far; he was still looking around the point that Strange had led them to. There were several weathered plastic chairs, but Strange ignored those, settling down instead on a lichen covered rock. He crossed his legs and rested his wrists on top of them, then closed his eyes and drew in one deep breath, holding it, before he let it out.

“Should I go?” Loki asked bitingly.

Strange slitted an eye at him. “If you want.”

Sniffing, Loki said, “Let me rephrase that. Do you _want_ me to go?”

With another slow breath, Strange said, “I don’t _want_ you to go. But I’m not going to tell you to hang around while I meditate.”

“Why in the world would I want to stand here like a fool waiting for you to meditate?” Loki asked.

“You wouldn’t,” Strange said. His eyes were both closed again.

Loki nodded, though of course, Strange couldn’t see him. “Right,” he said.

The view caught his eye. Under the hot sun, the water in the harbor was a bright, hard turquoise, with little diamond white glints where the light caught the water and reflected back into the sky. There was some sort of large structure with three tall towers across the harbor. Loki thought it was some sort of facility for producing energy. A bit of white smoke was coming from the tops of the towers. If he turned his head, the mouth of the harbor opened up, and he could see straight out to sea.

Perhaps not straight out to sea. He tried to remember the map. From here, if one were to imagine a straight line from his feet to the nearest piece of land, he thought it might be Vietnam. Or, more likely, one of the many islands in the South China Sea. There were barges on the horizon, making their ways along shipping routes. That reminded him of New Asgard, the ships going up and down the fjord.

If he turned his head further to the left, then he could see the coastline of the island, the rolling hills carpeted in green and the way the shoreline dipped and protruded back out into the water. That, too, reminded him a bit of New Asgard, and the Norwegian coast, with its inlets and rocky little harbors.

There was a higher hill in the distance. Loki was glad they hadn’t ascended to its peak. He was finally getting his breath back.

His eyes flicked to Strange, who actually, truly seemed to be meditating, and then he looked over his shoulder at the sound of voices. A group of hikers was approaching, having a loud conversation about someone named Xiao and whether his new boyfriend was stuck-up or just quiet.

When they got closer, Loki made a exaggeratedly apologetic face and said, “ _So_ sorry, but my friend is meditating. I’m afraid this whole area needs to be kept quiet.”

He almost felt bad about the way the all jolted to a stop, looking horrified. One of them was carrying an easel. Norns, imagine walking up here lugging an easel the whole way. Thank goodness for his pocket dimension. “Ah, sorry!” the young woman in the lead said. “We didn’t know.”

Holding a finger up to his lips, Loki said in a stage whisper, “If you turn around now, he might not even know you were here.”

They did, their guilt apparent in the way their shoulders hunched. He smiled slightly, even though it was a pretty poor attempt, as far as mischief-making went.

“So,” Strange said, “was that just you being a jerk to be a jerk?”

Loki turned back to look at him. His eyes were still closed. “You could understand that?” he asked, feeling rather pleased with himself. It wasn’t often that he was able to provoke Strange into calling him a jerk. Admittedly, he sounded more amused than annoyed, but still.

“My Cantonese is better than you might think,” Strange replied. He opened an eye. “So you’re sticking around, I guess.”

“I didn’t say that,” Loki replied.

“Okay, well, if you want to chase off any other hikers so I don’t get disturbed, do me a favor and stand closer to the main path. You can head them off sooner that way.”

Instead, Loki smirked, then took several steps forward and settled himself on one of the other rocks. Both of Strange’s eyes were open now and he watched silently as Loki sat, arranging his legs in front of him. The stone felt warm on his backside, which felt oddly nice, even though he was still extremely overheated. It was like a hot water bottle for his muscles, which he hadn’t thought were sore, but perhaps they would be. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt the need to be contrary. Well. Actually, he usually felt the need to be contrary around Strange. It was an urge that he didn’t quite understand.

Cocking his head, Strange said, “ _You_ could try meditating. I’ll be honest, Odinson, you’re probably someone who could really benefit from some deep breathing and clearing your mind.”

“Undoubtedly,” Loki said dryly. It made a smile twitch at Strange’s mouth. “And by the way, I just wanted to see how those people would react. In New York, I’m sure they would have had a rather less apologetic response.”

With a snort, Strange said, “You mean they would have asked what the fuck your problem is and stood in front of you to block your view? Maybe.” He said it fondly. Then, he drew in a deep, slow breath, held it for several seconds, and exhaled in a measured way. “Are you going to sit for awhile?”

“I think I will,” Loki replied, trying to sound as though he also might not, depending on any vicissitudes in his mood.

Strange had a way of looking like he was smiling without _actually_ smiling—at least, not with his mouth. It was something in his eyes, both the way they lit with amusement and the way their corners crinkled. “Surprise me.”

Loki wrinkled his nose, but Strange had already gone back to his meditation. Loki watched the slow rise and fall of his chest and the way his face relaxed. He wondered if Strange was actually planning on falling asleep like this.

The answer, he thought, was no, because exactly thirty minutes later, Strange rolled his shoulders back. His spine cracked and he uncrossed his legs, then looked over at Loki, raising an eyebrow. Loki just pursed his lips. “It’s too hot to walk the rest of the way,” Loki said so Strange didn’t get any ideas that he’d waited around because he was enjoying the other man’s company. Though, it had to be said, Strange’s company when he was in a meditative state was preferable to his company at any other time.

It actually _was_ cooling off a bit. The sun was getting lower, and though the humidity didn’t seem to be improving at all, at least the air temperature was dropping.

Strange reached his arms over his head, stretching. His back arched and his shirt pulled taut across his chest. It was no longer quite so damp, but Loki still found himself unable to look away. Something coiled in his gut, something blazing and insistent, and he looked away.

The fact that Strange was an attractive man wasn’t a mystery to him. But he probably should be a bit less…appreciative of that fact. And probably a bit less observant of it, as well.

Rubbing at his hair, Strange said, “I would have brought something to eat if I’d known this was going to turn into a whole thing.”

Loki gazed out over the harbor. The sun was creeping towards the horizon. Then, feeling both reluctant and oddly restless for the idea, he said, “I have food.”

Restless. That wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t quite _wrong_. He did feel restless. But he felt…well, suddenly, he was quite keen on the idea of Strange accepting this invitation. Even though it wasn’t exactly an invitation. Loki didn’t _do_ invitations, really—he wasn’t good at that, at introducing the possibility for rejection into an interaction. So he wouldn’t say, _I have leftover dim sum; do you want to sit here and share it?_ Because Strange might say no, and then Loki would look like a fool.

It was important not to look like a fool in front of Stephen Strange. He _had_ looked like a fool, many times, and he didn’t like it.

“And it’s not a ‘whole thing,’ by the way,” Loki said. “We were both walking the same direction. It was silly not to walk together.”

Holding up his hands, Strange said, “No argument from me.” He shifted on his rock, turning his whole body so he was facing Loki. “When you say you have food, do you mean you have food that you’re going to smugly eat in front of me without sharing?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I had dim sum this morning. I ordered far too much. It _was_ going to be dinner on the flight back to New Asgard, but if you’d like some…” He trailed off. Not an invitation.

There was a silence, as though Strange was waiting for it to become an invitation. He should have known better. They knew each other well by now, too well, possibly, for people who weren’t friends, for Strange to think Loki would actually _ask_ him if he’d like to share leftovers. That was the sort of thing Strange did. Strange issued invitations. Strange hounded him for conversation. Strange appeared unexpectedly and made Loki feel as though he couldn’t just _leave._

“Okay,” Strange said. “Thanks.”

To be honest, Loki had expected something more sarcastic.

With a nod, Loki pulled the containers from his pocket dimension, allowing them to appear on the rock next to him. “I don’t have plates I’m afraid, but here—” He handed Strange a pair of chopsticks that had been in his pocket dimension with the dim sum. As Strange took them, a thought occurred to Loki. “Are you able to use those?”

He didn’t mean it unkindly. If he wanted to be cruel, there were many tactics he could take. Strange’s hands weren’t one of them. There had been a time when he _had_ been cruel about them. The thought made him ashamed now. It made him so ashamed that he wished he could apologize, but at this point it had been so long that it felt more like reopening old wounds than showing actual remorse.

Anyway, Loki didn’t apologize.

Even though Loki hadn’t meant it unkindly, there was still a flash of unpleasantness on Strange’s face. It wasn’t quite anger. Or rather, it was, but not really directed at Loki. It was a more general anger—that his hands were like this, that people noticed, that it made him look weak. Loki wanted to tell him that his scars and his damage didn’t make him weak, but this would have been rich coming from him.

So instead, he let his question hang there. Strange ripped the chopsticks open. “Yes,” he said shortly.

Loki nodded, then moved over to make space for Strange. The rock was big enough for both of them and the line of containers. After a second, Strange did it, settling down next to Loki. They were close enough that Loki thought he could feel Strange’s body heat—but then again, it might have been his imagination. It was, after all, still hot.

As he picked up a container and popped it open, Strange said wryly, “You _did_ order too much.”

“It all looked good,” Loki said a bit sheepishly. He reached across Strange to snag another container, his side brushing against Strange’s bare arm. A shiver went through him, starting at his toes and shuddering all the way up to the top of his head. He was overcome with a sense of inevitability, of how easy it would be for Strange to move a couple inches and put his hand on Loki’s waist. Loki would be able to feel the heat of his palm through his clothes.

Obviously, Strange didn’t do that. Why _would_ Strange do that?

Strange cocked his head at the contents of the container in his lap, then shrugged and picked one of the buns up with his chopsticks. He actually was good at it. As Strange took a bite, Loki asked, “Which one is that?”

“Taro,” Strange replied, his mouth full of food. Charming. He swallowed, then asked, “So which is your favorite?”

“Still the sesame seed balls,” Loki replied. At least three of the containers were filled with those, because he couldn’t get enough of them. “I have to admit, that place you order takeout from is just as good as these.”

With a chuckle, Strange said, “When I’m feeding an Asgardian prince, I only choose the best.” When Loki raised an eyebrow, Strange added, “Out of whatever’s within delivery range, obviously.”

Loki snorted, though he was unsurprised. At this point, he knew Strange well enough to hear when a punchline was coming. “And here I thought you never put in any effort for me.”

This made a smile twitch at Strange’s mouth. “Nothing but the best for you, Odinson.”

“Mm.” The sun was sinking lower. One thing Loki had noticed about Earth was that depending on what latitude you were at, sunset could linger for more than an hour, streaking the sky with color so intense that you knew, you _knew_ , your eyes couldn’t possibly be taking in all of it. Pinks and purples, roses and indigos, reds and oranges, every in-between hue, the likes of which wouldn’t have been out of place in Asgard’s sky. And then in other places, the sun sank below the horizon with a perfunctory smear of orange and yellow before the sky turned indigo, then black.

The sunset he was watching now was more of the latter variety. There were little strokes of pink, perhaps some wispy clouds that couldn’t be seen except with the light hitting them a certain way. Idly, Loki grabbed a bao bun with his chopsticks, taking a bite out of it. Even cold, it was still delicious. Strange was watching the sunset too, his chopsticks held loosely in his fingers.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from something important,” Loki said. “Fine dining, advanced magical study, et cetera. A hot date, perhaps?”

Strange chuckled and dipped his chopsticks into the container. After chewing and swallowing a bite of bun, he replied, “Not tonight.”

This was distinctly vague, and Loki was sure Strange had done it on purpose. He’d be hoping to bait Loki into asking a follow-up question, and then he’d clarify that his fine dining and hot dates were every other night of the week. He’d make a comment about hardly being able to keep his women straight because there were so many.

Savagely, Loki stabbed his chopsticks down, tearing a bao bun in half. Strange was so insufferable. He didn’t even _need_ to say it; Loki could imagine it perfectly, his wry tone of voice, his crooked little smirk, the way his eyebrow would twitch up.

“I guess we could call this happy hour if we had drinks,” Strange said.

“Who says I don’t have alcohol?” Loki said before he thought about it. When Strange looked at him with interest, Loki pulled the bottle of baijiu from his pocket dimension. For a second, he stared at it. The plan had really been to share it with Thor. But then again, Loki didn’t like when Thor drank. Mostly he’d stopped overindulging, but there had been a few times where he’d had too much and he’d gotten…sad. And Loki had gotten worried, knowing the state Thor had been in after Thanos and before Loki had returned. They were back on Earth now in Thor’s little house and though Loki had certainly made some improvements, there were still remnants of those days. He occasionally still found old food under furniture. A month ago, he’d dropped his phone between sofa cushions. When he’d stuck his hand into the sofa to fish it out, his fingers had come in contact with something…else. He’d made a face but closed them around it anyway, pulling out a desiccated chicken wing.

He wasn’t sure what he thought might drive Thor into another depression. Sometimes he worried that it would take nothing at all. What if one day, a switch flipped in Thor’s mind, and he was drunk and cared about nothing again? Loki well knew that it didn’t need to be something specific. His own brain was wired that way. Why not Thor’s?

Looking up at Strange, Loki said, “We can drink this.”

Strange was watching him and Loki got the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what had been going through Loki’s mind. He didn’t understand how Strange could be so… _discerning_. “That stuff can be really expensive,” Strange said, raising an eyebrow.

With a laugh, Loki said, “Well, this wasn’t. Sorry to disappoint.”

A smile pulled at Strange’s mouth. “Good company and cheap booze? Not really what I’d call disappointing.”

“Hmph.” Loki unscrewed the cap. It definitely smelled cheap. “Most people don’t consider me good company. I think you may be a bit of a masochist.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that,” Strange replied.

“I think _I’ve_ told you that,” Loki replied. “Or at least, I’ve thought it.” As soon as these words left his mouth, he realized they’d been a mistake. It was as good as admitting that he thought about Strange. Perhaps Strange would assume he only meant he’d thought it during a conversation.

This wasn’t true. In a rare moment of honesty with himself, he had to acknowledge that he’d thought about Strange rather a lot when the man wasn’t around, considering he didn’t like him. Or barely liked him. Whatever.

He eyed the bottle. Alcohol had a tendency to make him more honest. And he didn’t think that what he needed in his life was more honesty. Especially not when it came to Strange. Imagine if he slipped up and agreed that the present company _was_ good?

The sun was below the horizon now. On the path above them, Loki could hear people laughing and talking, but no one came down here. Perhaps those who were inclined to saw the two of them sitting there and assumed that this was some sort of romantic tryst. Well, if it meant he didn’t have to chase anyone off again, it was sort of worth the mistake.

With a shrug, he held out the bottle to Strange. “Would you like to do the honors?”

His hand trembling, Strange took the bottle. As he studied it, he asked, “Do you have any shot glasses in your pocket dimension?”

“Sometimes,” Loki said with a smirk. “But as luck—or the opposite, I suppose—would have it, I took them out to wash them. It had been…” He thought about that. “…awhile. Anyway.” Arching an eyebrow, he added, “It wouldn’t be very Asgardian of me to eat outside like this and to _not_ drink straight from the bottle. Don’t tell me you’re too squeamish to share it with me.”

Something twitched at the corner of Strange’s eyes. “No,” he said wryly. “I thought you might be.” He tipped the bottle back and took a sip. His face screwed up, and as he lowered it, his lips puckered and his eyes watered. After he swallowed the baijiu, he choked out, “Well, it’s definitely got a flavor palette.”

Loki took the bottle, smelling the alcohol again before he took a sip. As it hit his tongue, felt his own face pinch tighter. No doubt he looked exactly the way Strange had.

The baijiu burned as it went down. “What flavor palette is that?” Loki coughed.

A tiny smile on his face, Strange replied, “Paint thinner, nail polish remover, and…lychee, I think?”

“The nail polish remover gives it a delicate flavor right at the front of your mouth, doesn’t it?” Loki said musingly.

Strange laughed and the sound of it—and the fact that he had prompted it—made something warm flare in Loki’s chest.

Before long, they’d finished the leftovers. It got darker. But they didn’t move, instead remaining on the rock, talking about New York, New Asgard, old adventures and misadventures. Loki asked about Wong and Jane, Strange asked about Thor, and it was hard to avoid thinking that whatever venom had remained in their banter had disappeared—not hours ago, but years ago.

When they should have set the bottle of baijiu aside, they didn’t. Everything got much fuzzier and much more fun; Loki’s laugh came more easily and Strange’s did too, and it wasn’t until Strange almost tipped off the rock and Loki had to catch him by the arm that Loki realized they were both drunk.

“I have to sit down,” Strange groaned after he’d caught his balance and Loki had let go of him.

“You’re sitting down,” Loki pointed out.

“No like…more down,” Strange replied, sliding off the rock to plop down in the dirt. His legs splayed out in front of him and he leaned back against the rock, so that his head was next to Loki’s knee and his shoulder and arm were practically touching Loki’s leg. “Better,” Strange pronounced. He stretched his arms up over his head and Loki looked down, taking in the way the shirt pulled up and he could see Strange’s stomach, which looked soft but not too soft, and a little hair that started at his belly button and led down.

And then a bright, incredibly vivid image flickered up in his mind, of Strange reaching down to grab the bottom hem of his shirt, his arms crossed in an X over his chest, as he pulled it up and over his head. He wouldn’t have rock-hard, bulging pecs and abs, but you would be able to see his muscles, softly defined as they moved and flexed under his skin. And it was still hot, even with the sun down, so his skin would be damp and slick with sweat—and that meant if someone, if Loki, were to run his hands over him, it would be effortless. If Loki were to hook his fingers into the closure of Strange’s pants and pop it open, his pants would slide over his hips as easily as his shirt had come off—

His head spun. He was _drunk_. How had he gotten this drunk? This train of thought was absurd. Absolutely inappropriate. Totally brought on by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

He felt himself start to get hard.

Hastily, he crossed one leg over the other and positioned his arm in such a way that it shielded his lap.

It didn’t stop a follow-up image from flashing through his mind: Loki flat on his back, Strange on top of him, Loki’s clothes coming off as well, their hips moving against each other’s as their hands slid over bare skin—

He nearly started to laugh, but if he laughed, Strange would ask him why, and he could hardly say, _I’m having involuntary fantasies of the two of us involved in sexual congress. How are you in bed? I want to judge its accuracy._

That was a problem. With this much alcohol coursing through his veins, he _did_ want to judge its accuracy. Quite suddenly, he thought it might be a very nice thing to hold Stephen Strange’s body against his, to run his mouth and tongue over all of Strange’s most sensitive places. Quite suddenly, it seemed like it might be a very nice thing to hear Strange say his name—because he couldn’t say anything else, and helplessly, because he couldn’t say it any other way.

There was no controlling his erection at this point. He’d just have to hide it. At least Strange wasn’t facing him. He wasn’t going to do anything except sit here, mortified that he was thinking these things and clearly not mortified _enough_ because there was something very arousing in the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking any of it in the first place, and maybe—maybe he should have another drink.

He reached for the bottle, which felt more graceful than it was, because when his fingers got close to the neck, he hit it instead of grabbing it, which sent it tumbling off the rock. It landed in the dirt with a clink. “Whoops,” Loki giggled.

Strange fumbled for it, finally snagging it in his shaky fingers, then tipped it to the side. Loki could see a small amount of liquid sloshing inside. “Saved it,” Strange said unnecessarily, but Loki still nodded as though this was important information that he wouldn’t have been able to glean for himself. “But almost gone.”

With a groan, Loki said, “Unacceptable. I _refuse_ to accept that.”

Strange heaved himself away from the rock, spinning clumsily until he was on his knees facing Loki. Good thing it was dark. Loki was still hard. “Got any more booze stashed away in your…” Strange waved a hand. “…your magic pocket thingy?”

This seemed inordinately funny. _Magic pocket thingy._ Strange was funny. “I have something,” he said, “but it’s not good.”

Strange seemed interested. “What is it?”

But Loki shook his head. “No. I can’t give it to you. It’d kill you. Might kill _me_ , actually.”

“What is it?” Strange asked again.

Waving a hand, Loki said, “We had this—it was…um, you call it… _liqueur_ ,” he said, searching for the English word. “On Asgard. It was made from eels.”

Making a disgusted face, Strange said, “Okay, that’s gross.”

“It was,” Loki agreed. “I didn’t like it. Volstagg drank it, so revolting, he swore it enhanced virility—” Which was _not_ something Loki needed at all right now.

“Volstagg,” Strange repeated. “I don’t know him. Do I?”

“No,” Loki said. “He’s dead. They’re all dead.” Suddenly, he was very sad about that. He didn’t want to be sad. So he shook himself and said, “Don’t you want to know about eel liqueur?”

“Ew. Is that what it’s called?”

Shaking his head, Loki said, very distinctly, so his Allspeak wouldn’t render it in English, “Alvannt. A rare delicacy, Strange. The price it would fetch in the Kree Empire? Depending on its vintage, it’s worth more than the Sanctum and New Asgard combined.” He stretched a leg out, angling it to the side so he didn’t kick Strange. “There are eels here, on Earth I mean, so we thought maybe we could make it.” With a snort of laughter, which came out fuzzier than he meant it to, he added, “We were overly ambitious.”

“So why do you have it?” Strange asked. He actually looked delighted by this story. His face was more open than usual; there was interest and amusement and happiness all flowing in waves over it, and Loki rarely, rarely saw Strange this way.

“Last ditch weapon,” Loki replied. “If all else fails, I can probably douse someone with it and melt them.” This wasn’t exactly true. He had it because he’d said he’d get rid of it, but he hadn’t yet, because he found it funny in that inexplicable way he sometimes found these things funny. Thor thought the story was enough; he didn’t need to keep a bottle of the abhorrent stuff; Brunnhilde just didn’t understand. But he could see from the way that Strange was smiling crookedly that he did, that he saw the humor in it.

“You could make the most revolting Molotov Cocktail ever,” Strange said.

Leaning forward, Loki asked, “What’s that?”

Strange picked up the bottle of baijiu and said, “You take a rag soaked in alcohol, stuff it in the bottle, light it on fire—” He mimed this. “—and throw it.”

“That sounds destructive,” Loki said approvingly.

“Kinda the point.” Strange held the mouth of the bottle up to his lips, taking a swig of what little baijiu remained, then held it up to Loki. It was shaking badly, and even drunk, Loki could see Strange making an effort to stop it. Gently, Loki took the bottle from Strange, pretending that it had nothing to do with the way he could barely hang onto it.

There was enough baijiu in the bottle for a few more drinks. Loki took one. It no long burned as it went down. “I— _hic_ —expected this stuff to be worse. Paid practically nothing for it.” Though he did have a vague memory of it not being very good when they’d started drinking. The rock was uncomfortable. Strange’s shoulder seemed like a distinctly nicer place to rest his head. Perhaps his lap. But he shouldn’t do that.

Instead, he handed the bottle back to Strange, watching as his lips closed around the neck again. It wasn’t a terribly far leap from the shape his mouth was currently in to the shape his mouth would be in if it was wrapped around something else, something of Loki’s that was definitely still throbbing. And with Strange sitting on the ground, kneeling in front of Loki, his head at exactly the right height for—that—the throbbing was getting worse. When Strange flicked his tongue out to run it over the rim of the bottle, licking up a drop of baijiu that had escaped his mouth, Loki pushed his own arm tighter over his lap. No no no no this was not good, he couldn’t imagine Strange’s lips wrapped around him, or his tongue lapping like that.

Actually he _could_ imagine it, and that was precisely the problem.

Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to clear his mind. Maybe if he sat on the ground himself, that would be better. It would probably make the bulge at the front of his pants less obvious, at the very least.

He slid off the rock and drew his knees up, angling his ankle across his genitals, just in case Strange happened to look. Loki didn’t know why he would. But still. Loki didn’t want him to notice and ask. Though why would he ask? Strange was a man. He was a decent man. He would…he would _get it._ Right? Surely he would understand that sometimes these things just _happened?_ And it certainly didn’t have to have anything to do with present company, or the way their lips looked.

“Welcome to the ground,” Strange said grandly, extending an arm. The action made him nearly lose his balance, and when he regained it, he shuffled back to lean against the rock next to Loki. Silently, the two of them finished off the baijiu. After taking the last swallow, Strange set the bottle next to himself.

“Hey.” Strange turned to Loki. “Do you play drinking games?”

Resting his head against the rock, which felt rough against the back of his head, Loki said, “I’m Asgardian. What do you think?” The stars overhead—the few of them that could be seen with Hong Kong’s light pollution—were smears of light. Loki blinked, trying to clear whatever film was covering his eyes, and then he realized there was no film. He was just that drunk.

“Wanna learn an Earth one?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon.”

Loki breathed in deeply. The air was still thick with humidity. “What is it?”

With a crooked smile, Strange said, “Truth or dare.”

It sounded like a disaster already. But Loki couldn’t stop himself from asking, “I suppose one chooses either ‘truth’ or ‘dare’ and the other then either gives them a question or sets them a task, depending?” It was difficult to make all these words come out clearly. Loki was proud of himself for managing.

“That’s what I really like about you, Odinson. You catch on quick.” Strange tipped the empty bottle over onto its side and said, “I guess there’s spin the bottle, too, but there’s not much drama when it’s just two people.”

Furrowing his brow, Loki asked, “Spin the bottle? How is that a game?”

Strange watched him, opened his mouth, then closed it and shrugged. Ignoring the question, Strange said, “You can go first. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Loki said immediately. _Truth?_ Was he mad? Loki wasn’t going to allow anyone to require him to tell the truth. Though, then again, it was just a stupid game. He didn’t have to tell the truth if he didn’t want to. He could have lied, and Strange would have been none the wiser. Except Strange probably would have known. He seemed to know when Loki was lying.

His head spun. Probably the fact that all of his blood had drained from his skull down to his dick.

At least that problem was getting better. The idea of telling Strange the truth about anything sort of made his balls shrivel.

Ha, telling the truth, honestly. Was that a pun? Loki thought it might be a pun. He nearly said it out loud to see if Strange thought he was clever, but then he realized he’d have to explain the whole thing, the blood flow and all of it and _that_ was obviously a terrible idea.

What was the worst Strange could come up with for a dare, though? Hang off the side of the cliff? Cast an illusion to make yourself look like one of those hairless cats? There were things, he supposed, that Strange could dare him to do. Other things. Things that…involved Strange. And it was a dare, it was the _game_ , so Loki would have to do it. Alright, no, he wouldn’t have to do it. But he would. Because he didn’t back down from a dare.

Strange would never in a million years dare him to do anything of that nature. Strange was a good man. Loki knew that. Strange was kind and he didn’t take advantage even when he could. And he could right now. Loki’s ability to make good decisions was nonexistent. If Strange decided that he wanted someone to—well—even if he didn’t like men, in the dark, a mouth was a mouth, pleasure was pleasure, and if he wanted to, he could close his eyes and pretend it was a woman, if that was what he preferred, and Loki, drunk, so, _so_ drunk, would do it and enjoy it and probably not even remember it in the morning, except…maybe he would remember that Strange had betrayed some kind of trust, and maybe the next time they ran into each other, things would be a little cooler between them.

That thought made him sadder than he expected. There was always an unpleasant jolt when he ran into Strange. Why would it matter if things were cooler?

Because the jolt wasn’t unpleasant. It was surprise, it was confusion, it was conflict. But it wasn’t unpleasant.

_That_ was something he wouldn’t remember in the morning, either.

He breathed out slowly. “Are you thinking of something?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Strange said. “I don’t—” He swayed. “—don’t want it to be boring. Like, I could ask you to sing. I’ve never heard you sing.”

“You don’t want to,” Loki said. “‘S’not good. Also!” Coup de grace—Strange couldn’t dare him to sing after this. “I am _far_ too…too…too plastered to remember the words to any of the songs you like.”

“You know them?” Strange asked. There was surprise in his tone.

“Maybe,” Loki said, only realizing at the last second that he shouldn’t have admitted this. “Or maybe I’m lying,” he added. “That’s why I didn’t choose truth, you know. Because I’m a liar.”

“Uh huh.” Strange’s hands were resting on top of his thighs, twitching now and then. “Okay. How about this. I dare you…to tell me the truth about something.”

At first, Loki laughed. But Strange just watched him, looking smug, and Loki’s smile faded. “That doesn’t really seem in the spirit of the game, Steph—St—Strange,” Loki slurred.

With a sloppy looking shrug, Strange said, “That’s the dare.”

Loki stared at him in consternation. Then his eyes flicked down to Stephen’s mouth, set into a crooked smirk, and he couldn’t help thinking, _The truth is that I want to kiss you right now_ , but even as drunk as he was, he wasn’t drunk enough to say _that._ Was it even true? Or was it just…alcohol? Probably just alcohol. He was sure, _quite_ sure, that if he were sober, he wouldn’t want to kiss Stephen Strange. So what if his lips looked full and soft; so what if Loki had always had a weakness for the feel of a well-groomed beard against his face? Just alcohol. And heatstroke, probably.

His mind turned to the ‘dare.’ There were many things that Strange didn’t know the truth about, some innocuous, some much less so. Some, they had talked about haltingly, but never in great detail. He could say, _I know what Ebony Maw did to you because it was done to me too_ ; he could say _I understand what it’s like to think you’re someone and find out the opposite._ He could tell him about sneaking Jotuns into Asgard, about the fact that he had delighted in being wicked during the Battle of New York because it was exactly what everyone had always expected of him and he was giving them the performance of his life. He could tell him how he’d hated Thor so much, but loved him with an equal fierceness.

But Loki thought Strange might know that last one already.

Taking a deep breath, Loki said, “I think you have a nice singing voice.”

Strange actually looked stunned. That was worth something. For a full thirty seconds, he stared at Loki, a comically befuddled expression on his face. Finally, he asked, “You do?”

Loki rubbed at a smudge of dirt on his pants. “Yes.” Flicking his eyes to meet Strange’s, he said, “Nicer than mine. But actually just…nice.”

There was another long pause. Then, Strange said, “Thanks.”

With a shrug, Loki looked out over the sea. “You dared me to tell the truth about something.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Well then? What about you? Truth or dare?”

Strange rubbed at his beard and Loki wondered what internal debate he was having. What the pros and cons of each choice were. Because Loki _knew_ Strange. He knew that was the reason for the hesitation. Strange was trying to guess how far Loki might needle him.

Another few seconds of silence passed, and then, Strange said slowly, “Truth.”

Oh.

Loki had assumed he would choose dare. Dare was easy. Loki would have dared him to do something stupid, like create a barbershop quartet composed of himself and invite the Avengers and their new young acolytes to a special performance.

But truth? _Oh_ , he wanted to ask, _is that something you want to talk about? The truth?_ Which he supposed would have been a question that Strange could have told the truth in response to, and Loki could call it done, but…even that felt like opening a box he didn’t want to open.

Questions flickered through his mind. Impossible questions. _Does the way you look at me sometimes mean anything? Do you even like men? Do you find me attractive? Do you want to kiss me? Do you know what a spectacularly bad idea that is? Do you understand why I can’t?_

He was _so_ drunk. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he clearly couldn’t drink this much, ugh, no, not around Strange, not when it was so hot and it had been so long since he’d had—since he’d been with—since he’d had any kind of romantic partner except his own hand.

That thought made him giggle a little. He had made supremely poor choices today. He was _just_ sensible enough not to make another one.

Strange was staring at him. There was an odd look on his face. Loki couldn’t identify it.

But if he had to, he’d call it…expectant. No.

Hopeful.

Loki’s fingers curled into fists and he asked, “How did you and Wong meet?”

The change on Strange’s face was subtle. Nearly imperceptible. Loki was surprised he was able to detect it, considering the state he was in. The hope, if that was even what it had been, dropped away, replaced by…resignation. “I wanted to borrow a book from the library,” Strange said. He smiled, though it seemed joyless. “In Kamar-Taj. He took it too seriously.”

“As always,” Loki said. His voice felt like it was coming out far too heartily. As though some line had been crossed and they both needed to retreat, but Loki was acutely aware, horrifically aware, that _he_ had done something wrong, or if not wrong, then something that had wounded Strange in some way, and that was…idiotic. It was stupid. Nonsensical. There was nothing Loki could do to emotionally wound Strange. The man had proved that time and time again. He didn’t take Loki seriously. If you didn’t take someone seriously, they couldn’t hurt your feelings.

Which was why Strange had never hurt Loki’s feelings, incidentally, because Loki didn’t take him at all seriously, this human sorcerer with his lovely eyes, blue or green depending on the light, and his soft-looking lips and neat goatee.

The two of them lapsed into silence. The drunken buzz had gone out of Loki’s veins entirely. Alcohol—it was fun until it wasn’t. Now he just felt foggy and slow. The world was spinning unpleasantly. How the hel was he going to fly back to New Asgard like this? He couldn’t. Sourness sloshed in his stomach. He’d probably be lucky not to be sick.

Loki’s legs felt stiff and he extended them. That _other_ buzz had gone from Loki’s veins, too. It had been stupid. Stupid fantasies. Who knew what had caused it? Maybe there were pheromones in the air here that affected Asgardians specifically. Which wasn’t to say that Strange wasn’t attractive. Loki knew that if he glanced at him right now, the likelihood of being taken by his handsomeness was quite high. But that was because Loki liked beautiful things. Appreciated them—that was the better way of putting it. That was all.

His mouth was starting to feel dry. The sourness in his stomach was gaining more bite. The humidity in the air wasn’t helping, either. Loki felt like he couldn’t get a breath. He wasn’t _quite_ nauseated, but the possibility didn’t seem far off. If he could breathe some cool, crisp air, he was sure he’d feel better. Everything would probably be better if he could just do that.

Strange shifted. Their shoulders had been touching, Loki realized. And now they weren’t.

“I s’posp…s’posp…” Loki grit his teeth. “I… _suppose_ you need to get back to Yew Nork. New York.”

There was a silence, so Loki turned his head to look at Strange. He was staring out over the sea, his gaze faraway, like he wasn’t here at all. Not thinking about Loki at all, let alone what had just happened. Whatever _had_ just happened. Stupid thought. Nothing had happened.

Since nothing had happened, the barren hollowness inside him was just an illusion. And Loki knew about illusions. He was good at them. So that made sense.

“Guess so,” Strange finally said. Without looking at Loki, he laboriously climbed to his feet, swaying alarmingly. Norns. What if he stumbled right off the cliff into the sea below? Flashes of that played out in front of Loki’s eyes, intrusive and horrible, and something that felt awfully like panic clutched at his chest. The idea of Stephen dying suddenly seemed so terrible, so very terrible.

Loki got to his feet too, ready to grab Strange if he wobbled too close to the edge of the cliff. But Strange seemed steady enough on his feet, now that he was standing. Silently, Strange unhooked his sling ring from his belt, shakily slipping it onto his fingers, as Loki vanished the empty food containers into his pocket dimension. They were a problem for a future version of him.

The empty bottle, though—he bent over to pick that up, sliding his fingers over it. He was seized by a sudden, violent urge to fling it into the sea. Except you couldn’t fling a bottle into the sea on Earth without putting a message into it. That was a cliché here. A message in a bottle. A message you couldn’t send any other way because you were stranded. A message that had no hope of actually reaching its intended recipient. What kind of message would he send?

_I hate you. I hate this._

Even if it was the opposite.

Loki closed his eyes, then vanished the bottle into his pocket dimension, as well. Where had he actually landed his ship? Would he be able to find the way back? Everything seemed murky in his mind. And—this thought hadn’t occurred to him until now—was the ferry even running anymore? Perhaps he’d have to spend the night here, leaning against the rocks until he nodded off into fitful, drunken sleep.

As though Strange was reading his mind, he said, “Let me bring you back to your ship before I go back to the Sanctum.”

“Oh.” Right. Stupid. Strange could bring him anywhere, instantly. “I…” It felt as though his head was full of wool. “Yes, that would be…thank you. Don’t think—don’t think the ferries are running anymore.”

Strange finally looked at him. “You think I’d let you walk back to your ship like this? Even if they were?”

“Like what?” Loki asked. Drunk off his arse, clearly. Why was he even asking? Just to hear Strange say it? Even an Asgardian could be taken advantage of in a compromised state.

But Strange didn’t answer this question. Instead, he asked, “Where is it?”

There had been ships. Big boxes. Loki knew the kind of place. He knew the word. “Um, docks,” he said. “Container ships.” He closed his eyes. “It was Container Terminal 8.” Complete sentences—look at that.

“Okay,” Strange said. He extended his arm and circled the other. The portal started to bloom in front of them, swelling a little before it shrank back down. Orange sparks sputtered weakly. Loki stared blearily. There was a joke here, but the idea of making it seemed devastating in a way that he couldn’t articulate.

But Strange tried again, and this time it worked. By sheer happenstance, the portal was near the ship, which Loki had cast a glamor over so it would be more or less invisible. He could feel his own magic, though, and as they stood there, green shimmered over it, and it appeared as if from thin air. Uninvited, Strange followed him on board, where he stood as Loki drifted to the bridge. Loki mostly just wanted to lie down. He didn’t know why Strange hadn’t left yet.

Clearing his throat, Strange asked, “You’re not going to fly home right now, are you?”

Part of him wanted to say _yes_ , just to see the look of horror on Strange’s face. Would Strange go into Good Guy mode and tell him he couldn’t? There were signs on some of the roads in Norway admonishing people not to drive their cars while intoxicated. Imagine what they’d think about flying a spaceship when he could barely walk in a straight line! The thought amused him and he started to giggle.

The feeling faded quickly and he swayed on his feet, then took several unsteady steps to his berth. As he flopped down on it, he said, “I’ll stay here. I’ll sleep it off. That’s what you want me to say, right? You want me to be good. Good Loki, he’s so well-behaved, doesn’t put a toe out of line. Can’t really, can I? I’m a _guest_ here on Earth. We’re all _guests_.” He stared up at the underside of the other berth. A hard, swollen feeling rose into his chest, a feeling of wanting. Just…wanting. He didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that as good as things were now, as much as Thor and he had repaired things, there was something gaping inside him. It would be easy to say it was New Asgard, stupid tiny ugly reeking fishing village New Asgard, but it would be a lie.

Then again, he liked lies. Well, he didn’t like them. They were just easier. Lies were so much easier. The truth was hard.

He turned away from the raw ache and rested a wrist on his forehead. “Well?”

There was a metallic scrape as Stephen’s feet shifted on the deck. “I don’t want you to crash into the ocean and never be seen again.”

Loki snorted. Suddenly, he felt as though he was going to cry. “I’m sure you’ll see me again, Stephen.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strange take a step closer. He looked unsteady, too, swaying, his gaze unfocused, his hands shaking. Mentally, he dared Strange to come closer. Truth or dare.

Why the hel had Strange chosen truth?

The truth was too much. The truth was difficult. The truth was _impossible_. It was vulnerability and pain and handing your heart and soul over to another person. The _truth_ was something Loki had no interest in. Certainly not whatever truth Strange would tell.

Slowly, Strange nodded. He was starting to look a little wan, as though he wasn’t feeling well. Wouldn’t be much of a shock. Loki didn’t feel well and presumably he could hold his liquor better, even with the heat. “Hope so,” Strange mumbled.

The two of them looked at each other. Loki’s vision kept fuzzing around the edges, but he concentrated on Strange, Strange in his t-shirt and his jeans, looking so human. Terribly human. _Stay_ , whispered a traitorous voice in his mind. It was a voice that would have him move over on the berth and hold out an arm. An invitation. An acknowledgement.

Impossible. Loki closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side, facing the bulkhead. “Good-bye,” he said, knowing he sounded pitiful. He had officially reached the stage where he wondered why he’d ever touched any alcohol ever in his entire life.

“Thanks for dinner,” Strange said.

“Welcome.”

“Thanks for…” But Strange trailed off.

“Strange.” Loki’s head was starting to hurt. “ _Good-bye_.”

There was silence, then the sound of a portal, which spit, hissed, and closed.

The truth. The truth could go to hel.

Loki hoped he didn’t remember any of this in the morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peace Offering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717341) by [KinkyPlotBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinkyPlotBunny/pseuds/KinkyPlotBunny)




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